Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 (102 page)

Bleys
wrote
on,
the
words
pouring
out
from
his
subconscious,
as if
they
had
been
penned
in
there.
The
bubbles
in
the
ginger
ale were
slowing
down.

Within his range, my brother is
a
deep thinker. He
'll
have
planned
well, and set up plans and sub-plans, layer upon layer—
I
may never know all the contingencies he's prepared for, all the details. But
I
see now why he was so diligent about carrying out that program of disinformation, by which
I
thought we were deceiving the Exotics, the Final Encyclopedia, and any other interested party, about our true origins and our intentions. Even years ago he was looking ahead, looking at the possibility he might want to bury his past in confusion and start over.

The muscles of his hand were tired and stiff from the precision with which he had
formed
the
block
capitals
he
generally
used
for
his notes.
He
felt
drained,
as
if
he
had
managed
to
sweat
some
fever
out of
his
system.

He
leaned
back
in
his
chair
and
reached
for
the
glass
of
ginger ale.
It
had
gone
flat,
but
he
had
written
so
quickly
the
ice
had
not completely
melted.
He
drained
the
glass,
feeling
its
coolness
pass down
his
throat
and
pool
in
his
stomach.

He
rose
from
the
chair
and
stretched,
yawning
in
a
release
from tension.
Suddenly
he
felt
he
could
sleep.
He
fed
the
sheets
of
paper into
the
disposal
slot,
and
turned
to
leave;
and
paused—and
sat down
once
more,
picking
up
another
sheet.

I
've missed writing these notes. Perhaps the stress of being isolated, in
a
dangerous situation, makes me need to do so again.

Until this evening,
I
had no trouble suppressing the habit. That may be due to my evolving relationship with Toni:
I
'm talking with her more and more—and with myself, less and less.

This suggests
a
potential problem. My resolve has always been that no emotional involvement or other human failing would
be
allowed to divert me from my life's work. Toni seems to have no intention of diverting me from that purpose, but the danger of that happening really lies less in her than in myself—the danger that
I
might let myself weaken.

I told her once I had moments of weakening. What I didn't tell her was that she was partly the cause of some of them.

It
took
this
trip,
with
its
separation
from
Toni,
and
Henry,
and
all the
others
who
revolve
around
me—and
the
smell
of
danger—to open
my
eyes.

I
tell
myself
there's
no
need
to
drive
any
of
them
away,
that
I'm strong
enough
to
keep
my
inner
self
controlled—but
am
I
deceiving myself
with
wishful
thinking,
when
I
say
that?

I
can
trust
Toni,
and
Henry.
I
can
even
trust
Dahno,
within
limits.

It's
myself
I
have
to
guard
against.

Before
he
left
the
room,
Bleys
wrote
another,
shorter
note—one he
did
not
destroy.
Rather,
he
folded
it
over
several
times;
and
then carried
it
with
him
as
he
descended
to
the
street.
He
made
two
calls from
a
public
terminal,
one
of
which
brought
him
another
automated
cab.

Back
in
front
of
his
original
hotel,
the
folded
paper
was
lying
on the
floor
of
the
cab
as
Bleys
stepped
out;
and
as
he
did
so,
a
blond woman
in
evening
dress
hurried
up
to
engage
the
cab.
Bleys
politely
held
the
door
for
her
before
entering
his
hotel.

When
Dahno
showed
up
the
following
morning,
Bleys
insisted
on going
someplace
where
they
could
talk
safely;
and
after
a
certain amount
of
verbal
sparring,
Bleys
eventually
found
himself
sitting on
a
patch
of
bare
dirt
in
a
small
park,
his
back
to
the
trunk
of
a
large tree.
A
small
part
of
his
mind
registered,
and
regretted,
that
it
was not
a
palm
tree,
but
he
dismissed
the
thought.

Two
meters
in
front
of
him
Dahno,
still
on
his
feet,
leaned
against the
back
of
an
ancient
stone
monument,
the
meaning
of
which
Bleys had
not
attempted
to
figure
out.
At
one
time
the
monument
might have
been
the
only
feature
standing
out
on
this
piece
of
ground,
but the
tree
that
had
gained
a
start
near
it
now
overshadowed
it
completely,
and
under
its
branches,
between
its
trunk
and
the
monument,
the
brothers
were,
in
effect,
in
a
small
room
of
their
own.

Dahno
had
not
been
willing
to
sit
on
the
ground;
and
in
fact, Bleys
thought,
he
looked
uncomfortable
even
standing.

"Thanks
for
agreeing
to
talk,
brother,"
Bleys
said.
"Can
anyone overhear
us?"

"How
can
I
tell?"
Dahno
said,
apparently
sulking.
"You
insisted on
finding
a
place
neither
of
us
could
have
rigged
in
advance,
but that
means
none
of
our
security
gear
is
here."

"Except
what
we're
both
carrying,"
Bleys
said.
"I
didn't
want
to
risk trying
to
bring
the
Newtonians'
bubble
device
through
customs—but you
know
I
was
asking
who
you
have
out
there."

"All
right,"
Dahno
said,
after
a
short
silence.
"I
do
have
people 'out
there,'
as
you
put
it.
I'm
not
sure
how
many
actually
managed
to keep
up
with
our
movements,
but
I'm
sure
some
made
it,
at
least." He
smiled
wryly,
and
stood
upright,
as
if
he
had
forgotten
his
discomfort.

"I
don't
know
where
they
are,
though." "Will
you
send
them
away?"
Bleys
asked.

"I
don't
think
so,"
Dahno
said,
his
eyes
narrowing
a
little.
Then he
smiled
again.

"You
wouldn't
believe
me
even
if
I
said
I
would,
so
what's
the point?"
He
laughed.

"Any
more
than
I'll
believe
it
if
you
tell
me
you
don't
have
anyone
out
there,"
he
went
on,
"so
why
don't
we
just
get
to
it?"

"Because
neither
of
us
wants
anyone
else
to
hear
what
we're
going
to
talk
about,"
Bleys
said.

For
a
long
moment
Dahno
just
looked
across
at
Bleys,
an
abstracted look
on
his
face—behind
which,
Bleys
knew,
his
brother's
mind
was racing.

"I
don't
think
I
want
to
hear
it,"
Dahno
said,
finally. "I
don't
think
you
can
afford
not
to,"
Bleys
said.
"You're
too smart
to
turn
down
information." "You've
got
information
for
me?" "If
you're
willing
to
trade."

"Trade?"
Dahno
paused.
"What
do
you
want
to
know?" "As
a
preliminary
matter,"
Bleys
said,
"what
happened
to
you when
we
were
on
Ceta?" "I
got
shot!"

"I'm
not
talking
about
that,"
Bleys
said.
"I
mean,
when
that
armored
car
was
burned,
you
tried
to
get
those
wounded
soldiers
out.

And
then
you
came
back,
into
the
line
of
fire
to
pick
up
that
wounded soldier
I'd
been
helping...."

Dahno
was
silent.

"Tell
me
why,"
Bleys
said
finally.

"I
don't
remember
why,"
Dahno
said
at
last.
"I
barely
remember it
at
all."

In
California
that
night,
in
a
hotel
room
he
had
picked,
Bleys
wrote his
mind
to
himself
once
more.

He
was
lying.
More
to
himself
than
to
me.

I
thought
I
knew
my
brother,
and
so
I
tried
to
pick
at
the
motivations
for
his
humane
acts,
figuring
he
might
be
disarmed,
and
reveal something
more
about
himself.
But
there
was
another
layer
of
him
I hadn't
seen
before.
I'd
known
for
years
that
the
Dahno
who
is
a
massive,
jolly
giant
who
cares
for
nobody,
for
nothing,
was
a
mask,
and that
there
were
other
Dahnos
beneath
it.
But
I
never
realized
until today
that
those
other
Dahnos
are
tormented—tormented
by
the fact
that
they're
/wtthe
uncaring
giant.

Under
stress,
Dahno
himself
saw
that
the
other
Dahno
was
a fraud.
And
now
he's
having
trouble
finding
out
what
he
is.

There
was
no
talking
to
him,
after
I
pressed
him.